To lie in the arms of Forgiveness
by CaptainoftheDamned
Summary: ((One Shot)) Captain Barbossa has found company that shares an idea to try ridding of his lust...by moonlight. (Though perhaps its not his lust that needs to be sated. ((WARNING: Hinted Necrophilia))


((This one shot is more meant to focus on Captian Barbosa rather than his partner, so there's a lack of description. If there's enough interest, maybe I'll write a sequel or keep writing more or..something. Idunno.  
This takes place 5-6 years after he and the crew spent away Cortezes cursed treasure))

-  
The gasps and groans had fallen to whimpers and catched breaths, clenched fingers into gooey digits that couldn't hold a babes finger in their grasp if they tried, and sweet sweat beaded every available part of the skin, pooling under her abdomen. Desperately the hands tried to retain their hold on the still mostly clothed man (if one could really call him that), with little avail as his thrusts continued at their panicked pace. His own grunts had long since turned into angry curses and pleading to the gods, bone digits digging into the soft ample bottom that they could not feel. Again and again he paused for half a second to move under the legs tossed over his shoulders, to re-position himself or to pull out and slam back in; but each time, there was but a flicker of pleasure, followed by…nothing.

"BLAST IT ALL TO THE DEPTHS WITHIT."  
The skinless johnson disappeared back into the wet cove, swollen and red with hours of berating and slamming into and against, the movements likened to a babe crying and clawing the air in desperation for their mother's milk, at the faintest glimmer of pleasure, to no avail. There was none after every faint flicker, every teasing pulse in the back of his mind egging him to try just a little harder; just a little longer. Even under the moonlight, clothes near tattered shreds, bones clacking under stringy rotted flesh, with the most important hunk of meat hanging in his pelvis stuck forever in rigor mortis; it truly was hell.

Had he still his face, Captain Barbosa's would have become shrewd in a very angry and upset twist, leaning away from tonight's company until he popped out with a number of the ladies own juice and a trickle of semen that betrayed any sort of feeling that it may have been released at any point. The lady still wheezed and moaned, body shaking to the core with naught a single shillings worth of energy left. At the very least he could watch her and her fading orgasms, a lady whom had for whatever reason sought him out under the moonlight from hearing stories and tales, and coaxed him to try it under the false sun. As her eyes glazed and stared past and beyond anything around the captains quarters, unable to focus on anything but the pounding in her chest and the throb in her gut, his own hollow eye sockets narrowed in spite, jealousy and anguish. Still his boney hands rested on her body, trembling with rage, but he couldn't lift them off her. He could not feel the warmth or the wetness that filmed her body in a brilliant sheen, nor the hazardous breaths that gradually readied itself into longer more productive breathing. Instead they slid from heir bosom along her leg, still in sorrowful hate, but unable to tear his gaze from the cold corpse hands that run along the smooth skin. A strange and vile interest this woman from another land had to want to lie with a living corpse. But…it had been worth a shot, trying it under moonlight. He'd tried most everything else there was.

His spine clacked as his head jerked upward, suddenly aware of his companion's eyes on him, back to the waking world.

"What're You lookin' at yah filth filled swine?!"  
His voice was a snarl and his fingers clenched harshly on the flesh, eliciting a gasp that was devilishly sweat on his ears and in his sight. He couldn't help but move forward again, his member still hard and aching to try again, resting between puffed swollen lips.  
"Lie with me."  
Her voice was cool, with a calm tranquility of one talking to a lover. But nay, they were not lovers. While the lady was not a prostitute he had spent coin on, he held no interest in gaining any more of her want. Queer woman she was.  
He'd had enough of this teasing and possibilities and attempts, with no results.  
"I been lyin' wit' yah since we left Tortuga, and I ain't think you'll be lastin' much longer."  
Huffing, he fell back on his heels, his instant rage calmed by her lack of reaction, reaching with one hand and tucking his member back under the belt. He couldn't even feel himself with his own acursed hand.  
"Lie down with me."  
His had flinched back as though spit at, eyes narrowing yet again, the decayed remnants of eyeballs glimmering under the full moon. His hand had returned to the leg, which like its partner was still draped over his shoulder, hands resting on their sides. He couldn't let up on the cushion of flesh they rested on, even if they could not feel the warmth.

"What d'ya take me for lass, a coddler? I Do look it, don't I?"  
His head fell to the other side, what was left of the beard attached to his skull falling with it. The lack of reaction or change in contented facial expression was not what he wanted, and he grew angry once more, feeling it bubble and broil where his hollow and forever moaning gut should be. Moving his shoulders out from under her legs, they clenched and slid down his body rather than fall off, the muscles still taught and scrunched from wrapping around every available part of his torso. Her voice cracked in a gasp that sounded like a failed attempt at being held back, no doubt from sudden motion of the stiff muscles as well as the well-leaned into pounding of her womb. That irritated him too, hands finally letting go of the thighs to pull the calves away from his body. What he wasn't expecting was for her to be able to move so quickly, pushing herself up onto her elbows, arms raising and dropping around his shoulders like a silken scarf, barely holding on. Her face was a few inches from his, eyes still half lidded and with careful emotion. Despite the pile of insults ready to be flung by his silver tongue and the sarcastic stare down he was custom to at such behavior from a woman out of her place…he didn't. Or was it couldn't? Hands moved on their own accord, weakly flexing and kneading as they rested on her hips. He wasn't aware of his jaw weakly working to motion words, but couldn't. He had no heart to pound in his chest, but his head hammered anyway. It must've been her touch; weak but gentle, and without threat, pay, nor bribe. It was on her own accord that her arms rested on him. She slowly leaned back, pulling him with her, the skeletal un-dead monstrosity that had once been a man named Captain Barbosa unable to say no to the temptation. He found himself laying atop her, head nestled between plump breasts and knees to the floor, hands still testing their kneading motion on her hips.

But What kind of Captain was he? To be so easily moved by weak hands of a random hussy!  
His grasps hardened again, brows furrowing, stoking his hatred. That was his normalcy; and damned be he if he would give that up too!  
…But as her arms rested across his back and head, he could hear it. The contented, soft, rhythm of her heart beating. Of the blood moving around her body, and joints rubbing at the lovers ache he gave her. Despite the hollow feeling in his gut, the ache in his loins and the tender sharp pain in his throat; there was another bubble of feeling rising in his chest. Only in the careful hold of this strange creature who didn't seem human, only in enjoying a moment. Enjoyment.  
Hands carefully sliding up and down her side, as though they sought a more perfect spot to be, he couldn't stop the shaking of his jaw, teeth clacking as they burrowed underneath her to hold her in a tight embrace. It was only in this solitude, the dead of night, where there was no one but himself and enjoyable company.

The bubble rose to his throat, and he let out a dry, rattling sob.


End file.
